


It's Been A While

by Bedtime (RestAssured)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex, Post-Episode: s05e22 Not Fade Away, Post-Series, my babies are unsure in this fic, phone fic, phone tag, skuzzy's old fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:52:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestAssured/pseuds/Bedtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-NFA, Spike and Xander reconnect over the phone. Things are said, things are left unsaid, and things that should've been said a long time ago are close enough to taste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Been A While

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorites. God, I love these boys so much.

No one expected him to care.

Well, to be fair, they expected a reaction, just not the reaction they got. They were nervous about the way he was coping, but then they were all finding their own ways to deal, and they couldn’t exactly reprimand him for doing the things they didn’t want to do. Still—the way he was throwing himself into these missions without a plan, without any supernaturally gifted back-up—it was insane. Almost like he was tempting fate, challenging it to show him why he was still here. Why he, the only human in a crew of non-humans, had walked out of the ruins of Sunnydale alive. His behavior was proving more and more reckless, and he had developed an alarming tendency to drop off the grid for extended periods, worrying the hell out of Giles, Dawn and Willow. But he would always manage to come home, sometimes worse for wear, sometimes not. And when he was home everyone was happy. Everyone but him.

It seemed he loved these trips as much as he hated them. He would come home with stories that he would tell with his usual brand of Sunnydale humor—a peculiar mix of irony and self-deprecating wit, with a dash of sheer disbelief for flavor. His stories captivated everyone, slayers and watchers alike, and soon he had an avid little fanclub. But often he would focus on the strangest details, and only Giles knew why—if you focus on one thing, you can leave out others. And there were always things he didn’t want to talk about. He’d make a quip about how, in Uganda, a one-eyed white man with the appropriate knife skills deserved respect. But if you asked him how he knew, he’d drop his smile and say “Experience,” and the conversation would die.

Still, he left again at the first opportunity. Often Giles would find himself hiding missions in his drawers so that the boy wouldn’t spot them on his desk and ask. Even more often he’d wake up and find the newest file gone and a note on his desk saying “ _On It_ ” in Xander’s kindergartenesque scrawl.

So to be honest, they weren’t expecting him to care when he learned of the events in L.A. Because when he was home he was like a tightly coiled spring, and when he was gone he was a tornado, twisting through missions with a deathwish that made him damn near unstoppable.

Xander had returned from his twenty-seventh slayer-scouting voyage (otherwise known as “Let’s Get Ourselves Killed: Micronesia Edition”) four days before. He was still in that high he always had for the first week home, when he was all smiles and brimming with stories, so glad to see everyone. It was in these times that most of the work around the house was taken care of, because he was still the best carpenter around, and the sight of rotting wood or broken tiles was an itch to him. He was ripping up the floor in the attic when Giles got the call.

There was an apocalypse in L.A. Except it managed to contain itself solely to L.A., and when the dust settled, two grey knights managed to come out alive.

Well. More or less.

It was Angel who made the call. And as Giles sat there, stone still in disbelief, receiver pressed to his ear… He could hear Spike in the background, whining about his lack of cigarettes.

It was Dawn’s fault Xander found out the way he did. Giles found her in her room and put her on the phone, and she screamed, causing the boy to come charging down the stairs with a hammer.

That night he came to Giles and asked for the number they’d used to reach him. Since Xander never asked for anything but more chances to get himself killed, Giles complied without a thought.

\--

“Yeah?”

“Spike.”

“Who’s askin’?”

“The Milkman.”

“… Harris.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.”

“Since ye saw me get crispy, savin’ yer sorry arse?”

“Yeah. Since that.”

“Yeah, well…Want somethin’, then?”

“Nah. Just, you know. Heard you were uncrispied, wanted to know if it was for real.”

“Well, I am that… That it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

The dial tone was loud and unrepentant, and Xander listened to it for a moment, trying to understand why he even called.

\--

“ _What?_ ”

“Why, Hello, Spike. So nice to hear your voice.”

“Who th’fuck’s this?”

“Santa Clause.”

“… Harris.”

“Yeah, good job.”

“S’fuckin’ daylight, you prat.”

“I know. Well, it is where you are. I just wanted to know if you were, you know, planning on coming to London anytime soon since, you know, L.A.’s kind of a crater now, and—”

“Don’t know. Can I sleep now?”

“… Yeah.”

\--

“’Lo?”

“Hey.”

“… Harris.”

“Yeah, wow, you’re getting good at that. So, G wants me to install tinted windows in the attic for you guys, and I just thought I’d call and find out if you’re actually _coming_ to England before I did it because tinted glass is fucking expensive, and—”

“We’ll _call_ , Harris.”

“Okay.”

\--

“ _What_?”

“Look, it’s just, you know… We all thought we’d never see you again, and—”

“ _God,_ do you make a _hobby_ outta bein’ this obnoxious, or is it just in yer nature?”

“—when we found out you’re still around, we were kinda hoping—”

“Spit it the fuck out, Harris.”

“… Am I interrupting something?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Oh. Okay then. I’ll just—”

\--

“Harris.”

“So, you and Deadboy, huh?”

“Wha’d’ye want, Harris?”

“I’m just assuming. ‘Cause, you know, Watcher Diaries were never subtle about the things you lonely vamps get up to. Pun _so_ very intended.”

“Ha-bloody-ha.”

“And you two did tend to fight like an old married couple. Except, you know, more death threats. Though in the Harris family household, you’d fit right in. I’m just sayin’—”

“Something you _need?_ ”

“Feel free to correct me, any time now.”

“… S’nothin’ to correct.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , God, _What the Fuck,_ Spike?! _You_ and _Angel_? _Seriously_?”

“M’hangin’ up now.”

“Ugh- Fuck! I need to bleach my—”

\--

“ _What, Harris?!_ ”

“ _Good_ Morning, Spike. Just so you know, I just spent a fucking _day_ repairing the roof above the attic and vamp-proofing the windows in the main bath, so you _better_ be planning on heading out here at some point—”

“Hell on Fucking Earth—”

“Now, do you want two beds? Or should we just get you and the missus a nice, king-size mattress? How ‘bout a four-poster frame, huh? I’m sure _he’d_ come up with some _brilliant_ ideas for _that—”_

“Don’t _Ever._ Call Here. Again.”

**\--Two Weeks Later--**

“’Lo?”

“G’mornin’, Sunshine.”

“Paul? Um—Listen, I can’t really talk right now, I’ve gotta get a shower and—”

“Who the bloody fuck’s _Paul_?”

“… Spike.”

“Yeah. S’been a while. Since when’ve blokes called _Paul_ been callin’ ye up with ‘ _G’mornin’, Sunshine_ ’—”

“Is there something you _need_? Or are you calling to tell me not to call you ever again—again?”

“… Comin’ out on Thursday.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. That’s… That’s good. That’s very… Very of the good. Um… I’ll tell G-man and all that jazz.”

“Right… Well then. See ye in five days.”

“Five days. Yeah. See you.”

\--

“Yeah?”

“Hey, listen, about—about what I said before. You know, the whole four-poster bed thing? I—”

“S’alright, pet. May’ve been a bit harsh. Me ‘n’ Peaches… When it happens, it’s a one-and-done thing. After, it’s bloody World War Three.”

“Sounds… healthy.”

“Right. S’not happenin’ again anytime soon, ‘t’any rate. Won’t be holdin’ hands an’ singin’ showtunes in the halls, ‘f tha’s what yer worried about.”

“I’m not. Worried about it. I mean, sing all the showtunes you want. Go buy matching puka-shell necklaces or whatever. It’s fine.”

“Harris, would I ever wear a fuckin’ puka-shell necklace?”

“Just sayin’. You know. It’s all good.”

“Like I said. Doesn’t matter either way.”

“So you don’t care if I continue to come up with mildly clever insults for His Hairgelliest?”

“Au contraire. I insist, mate. ‘N save some for me, yeah?”

“That’s a given.”

\--

“Hello?”

“Harris?”

“Yeah? Oh, Spike—yeah, hold on a minute, lemme—”

“Bloody Hell, where _are_ you? Sounds like a Mulgrythian sacrifice—”

“Just gimme a sec— _No, it’s Spike, I’ve told you about Spike—_ Just—Just hold on a minute.”

“Who’s _that_?”

“… Okay. Can you hear me now?”

“Yeah. What’s that bloody awful background noise?”

“House music. Bad house music. So what’s up?”

“Christ, who dragged ye out to that nonsense?”

“Nobody. Need something?”

“Just lettin’ ye know. Flight’s gonna be there ‘round three A.M.”

“Cool. I’ll tell G.”

“We called him.”

“Oh. Okay… So, what’re you calling me for?”

“Asked ‘im f’ye was around. He said ye’d gone out with a watcher. ‘ _Paul_ ’.”

“… And?”

“Said ye’ve been out with ‘im quite a bit lately.”

“… Again I say, _and_?”

“Just… Thought ye was just tryin’ it on that night, s’all.”

“…”

“… Harris?”

“… Thought we weren’t going to talk about that… ever.”

“We aren’t. Just, you know. M’curious. How long ye been playin’ fer both teams?”

“I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Like hell yer not. M’the one who popped that cherry, yeah? Deserve t’know who’s got rights to it now.”

“Jesus _Fucking_ Christ, Spike, what part of ‘ _I’m not talking about this’_ do you not understand?!”

“All of it. I’m just askin’ a simple question—”

\--

“You’ve reached Xander’s House of Sleeplessness. How may I direct your call?”

“Xander.”

“… Spike. It’s like five in the morning here.”

“I know. Ye with ‘im? Paul? Enjoyin’ a little—”

“Are you _drunk?_ ”

“Need t’ talk. T’you. Though, since yer bein’ a right prat, might as well talk _at_ ye.”

“Yeah, you’re drunk. I’m hanging u—”

“Can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

“…”

“That night.”

“…”

“Harris… Ye wasn’t just tryin’ it on.”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Ye knew what t’do. Knew how t’slick yerself. Didn’t even have t’move, ‘cause ye aimed yerself just right.”

“Spike—”

“Wasn’t yer first time, was it?”

“I never—”

“ _Was it?_ ”

“I never said it _was_!”

“You never said _anything_ , ye great git! Jus’ pulled up yer trousers an’ left!”

“Yeah, and you were _so_ broken up about it. You went back to chasing Buffy, what, _five_ seconds after I walked out that door? Six, maybe?”

“S’not the _point_!”

“Then what is it, Spike? Huh? What is it? You fucking wake me up for this bullshit, and now I’m sitting here, waiting for you to _get to the fucking point_ , so I can go back to bed and get some sleep before I have to deal with you and fucking _Angel_ for the next forever, so what—”

“What did ye want from me?”

“…”

“What were ye gettin’ out of it? Why’d ye even come to me? What’d ye think I could give ye that yer little demon bird couldn’t?”

“Your flight’s in less than a day, Spike. You might wanna sleep that off.”

“Harris—”

“Don’t call me again.”

“ _Xander—_ ”

**\--Two Weeks Later--**

_“You Have Twenty-Five New Messages.”_

“Xander. It’s, ah. It’s me. I, well. I see the mission file for the artifact recovery excursion has disappeared from my desk drawer. I trust you’ve arrived in Marrakesh safely? At any rate, truly the matter was not so pressing that you had to leave in the dead of night. I do wish you could’ve given us some warning, if only so that I could find someone else to pick up Angel and Spike when their flight came in—”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Hey Xan, it’s Buff. Um… listen, I know you always tell us not to worry, but Paul said you kind of left in a hurry, and you didn’t even take your go-bag or anything, so we… Well, we’re kind of worrying. Um. Team Undead is supposed to be here in like an hour, so. Give us a call, you know, whenever you—”

_“Message Erased.”_

“Harris, you Bloody Coward! _Morocco?_ Are you _insane—_ ”

“ _Message Erased.”_

_“Get back on that plane and get yer arse t’London this bloody instant, ye—”_

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Xander, love. It’s Paul. Just, you know. Checking in. Those vamp blokes you were tellin’ me about, they’re here. The blonde one, the one with th’ rent boy look? Seems right buggered ‘bout something. Doesn’t seem to like me, either. In any case, I packed your clothes and such, brought them over. Figured I might as well get most of your things ‘round to mine. We can decide what furniture to keep when you get back. See you soon, yeah? Kisses.”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Well, well, _well_. Met yer _Paul_ t’day. Cute little Watcher. I’m impressed, mate. And he’s wearing a puka-shell necklace. Bloody _Adorable_ , that. Call me.”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Ah, Xander. It’s been three days. I’m assuming you’ve reached Tarfaya? Do be careful—the prevalence of relic landmines is a very real danger in the Sahara desert. I wish you would _call_ me. The Council is paying your phone bill for a reason, after all. We’d all like to hear from you. _Spike_ , in particular, seems quite anxious to—”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Spoke t’Rupert this morning, Harris. Seems ye’ve been takin’ off like this quite a bit lately. Two questions—First off, bloody _Uganda_ without back-up? _Haiti? Malaysia?_ Now the fucking _Sahara desert?_ Do you have a deathwish, boy, or are ye just a flamin’ idiot? Second, went t’yer apartment with yer pretty little Watcher yesterday, helped him pack a few things. Found a puka-shell necklace in yer sock drawer. Seems like the kind of thing a devoted lover’d take with ‘im if he was goin’ somewhere—”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Hey, Xan. It’s Dawn. Um… Listen. We haven’t heard from you in, like, five days. That’s not cool. Where _are_ you? Giles is doing that thing where he paces around his office all day and leaves an open bottle of Scotch on his desk, and Buffy’s too busy avoiding Angel to concentrate on slayer training. But, I mean, _Spike’s_ the wiggiest. He’s being all weird and passive-aggressive with Paul. I didn’t think Spike **_did_** passive-aggressive. Anyway, _please_ call me. Let me know you’re okay. Morocco is not high on the list of places I’d go to relax.”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Harris, ye better have a damn good reason for pissin’ about in Morocco an’ not answerin’ yer bloody phone. Ye’ve been incommunicado for five days, case ye need a fuckin’ tally. Don’t like this bloody silent treatment—not from you. Look, m’sorry fer the… the last time we talked, aw’right? S’that what ye wanna hear? I am. Didn’t mean t’bugger ye off. We do need t’talk though, mate. Call me. Or answer yer bloody phone next time I call. Whichever comes first.”

_“Message Erased.”_

“Um… Xander? It’s Willow. I’m still in Edinburgh, you know, trying to connect the Council with local covens, but if you need help, I can just… You know. Swing by Morocco. Not—Not that I don’t think you can handle the artifact retrieval thingie, it’s just, it’s been like… Six days? And everybody’s sort of freaking out, so—”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Love, it’s Paul again. I must say, I’m getting a little uneasy. I moved the rest of your things in today, hope you don’t mind. Your vampire friends helped me pack it all. That Spike—he’s quite a character. I believe I was wrong about him. He seems alright. At any rate, we took your furniture to the dump. Doubt you’ll miss it—mine is so much nicer, love. Promise. _Do_ call me back when you get this message, please? Kisses.”

_“Message Erased.”_

“Yer boyfriend’s a real wanker, ye know that? Real bloody piss-fer-brains. What’re ye doin’ with him, anyway? Spent the entire day pickin’ through yer shite, tossin’ things he didn’t like. Nearly got rid of yer Star Trek collection, ‘fore I stopped him. Grateful? Ye better be. Seems t’think the two of ye’re gonna do the white picket fence bit. _Tell_ me he’s delusional, Harris. Don’t know if I can stand another second of his poncy-noncy chatter.”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Xander, it’s Giles. It—Well, it’s been a week and a day now, and quite frankly we’re all going out of our heads fretting over you. I’ve called the contact in Tarfaya. He claims that you retrieved the artifact and left two days ago. So where the _bloody hell_ are you?! If I don’t receive a call from you by the end of the day, I’m—I’m calling Willow and having her scry you!”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“ ** _Egypt?!_** What the flamin’ hells are ye doin’ in _Egypt?!_ Are ye _completely_ off yer nut, boy?! Rupert over ‘ere is havin’ a massive heart-attack! Ye’ll be lucky if he doesn’t flay ye alive when ye come back! Hell, ye’ll be lucky if _I_ don’t—”

_“Message Erased.”_

“Xander, I completely understand your desire to take some personal time, but going out of contact for this long is ridiculous. Do you realize how _worried_ we are?! What’re you doing in _Egypt_ , of all places? Willow scryed you _four times_ , just to make certain she was correct. Please, _please_ call us—”

_“Message Erased.”_

“Xander, pet, it’s Paul again. We’re all a bit anxious now. Rupert’s talking about sending someone out there. What the devil are you doing in Egypt? Anyway, I reserved the hall I was telling you about for the seventeenth of October. Fall theme, but not Halloween, yeah? That’s just tacky. I’m thinking soft golds and deep plum and maybe some taupe tones? Oh Darling, it’s going to be _divine_. Though, really, I suppose I should be waiting until we’ve made it official. I’m telling everyone over drinks tonight anyway. Call me!”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“OhMyGod, Xander, you’re _engaged_ —”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“Xander, it’s Buffy, what the _hell_ is going on?! Paul says you two are _engaged_! I mean, I knew you guys were dating, but it’s only been like a _month_ —”

“ _Message Erased_.”

“That’s it. That’s the last fuckin’ straw. You don’t call me in the next hour, an’ I’m takin’ desperate measures. An’ trust me, Harris. ‘Desperate’ is somethin’ ye definitely don’t wanna see from me.”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“ _Oh-! Oh, Fuck Yes! Oh God—Oh God, you’re so **fucking** good—”_

“Tell ‘im, Pet… Yeah, that’s it— _Fuck_ yes— _Tell_ ‘im who yer arse-up fer. Say my name.”

“ _Spike! Oh- Oh, Fuck Yeah, **Fuck** , Please— **Please** , harder! More! Oh—Oh Bloody--!”_

“That’s it… That’s it, yeah, fuckin’ _take_ it, Watcher _Slut_ —Fuckin’ **_take_** my cock. _Tell_ ‘im, boy. _Tell_ ‘im what ‘m doin’ t’ye. _Say_ it.”

“ _Fuckin’ **Christ** , I—I can’t—I’m gonna--!”_

“ _Say_ it! _Tell_ ‘im how much ye love it—”

“ ** _Yes!_** God, _Yes, I love it! I love it—Let me come! Please! Fuckin’ **Please** , let me come!”_

“ _Scream_ it, Watcher. _Scream_ for me.”

“ _Oh— **FUCK, Spike! Fuck yes! Fuckin’ Hell Yes-!**_ ”

“ _Message Saved.”_

“Um… Xander. It’s Paul. Again. Um… Can you call me? Please? I—Last night was—We really need to talk. Really. Besides, it’s been about thirteen days now and, well. You know how worried we all are already. Call me.”

“ _Message Erased.”_

“What? Aren’t ye even gonna call to tell me I’m a dick? Lad was rubbish, anyway. Yer wasted on him. An’ don’t tell me ye actually _love_ tha’ little tosser. I knew ye always had a certain romantic masochism, but ye’ve never had taste _that_ bad… T’any rate, call me. If only to tell me I’m a fuckin’ arse.”

_“Message Erased.”_

“Xander. It’s Giles. Again. You realize, of course, that it’s been two weeks? We scryed you this morning. What the devil are you doing in Turkey? And would you _please,_ for the love of God, stop worrying me? You’re driving me to drink! Call us!”

_“Message Erased.”_

“Harris… Xander… Look, just fuckin’ call, alright? Tell me yer okay… _Shit_ , m’sorry. ‘Bout Paul. ‘Bout what I said. ‘Bout whatever made ye run away. Tha’s what yer doin’, ye know that, right? _Right_?”

“ _Message Erased. There Are Zero New Messages.”_

\--

“ _No_ , Rupert, he hasn’t—”

“Hey.”

“…”

“Spike?”

“… Harris.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.”

“… Right. S’one way of putting it.”

“…”

“… So. Istanbul.”

“Yeah. Which, as it turns out, actually is Constantinople. But, you know. A rose by any other name…”

“Still smells like shitte?”

“Something like that.”

“…”

“So, thanks for being a dick.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, really. Let it be henceforth known that you are the most resourceful bastard in all the land. You _really_ know how to send a message, I mean, bravo. And kudos to you for nailing his ass less an hour. The ‘Say My Name’ bit was a nice touch.”

“Liked that, huh?”

“Yeah. Completely unnecessary, but effective. I’d punch you in the face, but I’m a continent away and pretty damn relaxed right now, so I’ll just lay here and admire your evil brilliance.”

“Turkish bath?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky bastard. W’the fuck’r ye doin’ in Istanbul, anyway?”

“Well. See, the artifact was in Tarfaya, like the file said. But what the file _didn’t_ say was that it was being guarded by an ancient curse that infected those who touched it with a gnarly craving for human flesh. So I wound up knocking our contact unconscious and carrying the thing off in the dead of night, and somebody told me that there was a guy in Port Said who could lift the stupid curse, so I headed there. And when I got there, I met up with the guy and he lifted the curse, but he told me that it ‘must never feel the air of Morocco again’, or the curse would come back, so I hopped a fishing boat and they dropped me off in Istanbul. And I figured, what the hell? I could use a vacation.”

“Thus the hammam.”

“Yep.”

“An’ ye didn’t think t’fuckin’ **_answer yer phone_** this **_whole bleedin’ time_**?!”

“Oh, I thought about it. But watching you guys freak the fuck out was pretty entertaining. And cell reception sucks out here.”

“Ye just _sat there_ an’—”

“I literally just checked my messages, Bleach Brain. I figured, you know, cursed artifact in hand and hungry cannibals on my tail—not the best time to catch up with home base.”

“…”

“Spike—”

“Ye fuckin’ _ran away._ ”

“Oh, I did _not_ , you big bloodsucking baby. I had to—”

“No. Actually, you didn’t. You didn’t have to go. Nobody asked ye to, nobody even wanted ye to. Ye just up an’ left fer Morocco, ‘cause ye didn’t want t’talk to me, man-to-man.”

“I’m talking to you now.”

“Yeah, after fourteen days of fuck-all. And tha’s all ye have to say to me? ‘Thanks for bein’ a dick’?”

“Yeah, well. That’s still talking, isn’t it? Would you rather I hung up on you right now? Because I just thought—you know, since you went to all that trouble, nailing my ‘poncy-noncy’ boyfriend—I’d give you what you asked for.”

“ _Xander—_ ”

“And hey, thanks for that by the way. Dude was getting a little psycho. Did he seriously tell everybody that we’re _engaged?_ ”

“… So, yer not.”

“Are you insane? Hell, I almost got married once—I am _not_ doing that to myself again.”

“… Good idea. Considerin’.”

“Yeah. Considering.”

“… Sorry ‘bout her, mate.”

“… Yeah. Thanks. I… Thanks.”

“…”

“… So, listen, I’m gonna—”

“Xander—”

“I’ll call you back, I swear, I’m just—”

“S’not your fault, aw’right!”

“…”

“S’what ev’rybody here’s been tryin’ t’tell ye nicely, innit? S’not yer fuckin’ fault, so stop throwin’ yerself into the next dang’rous thing, get yer head back on straight, an’ _come home_!”

“I know it’s not my fault.”

“Then what the fuck is yer problem, Harris?!”

“I don’t have one. I’m doing my ‘job’, or, you know, my ‘calling’, whatever this is. I’m takin’ care of business out here, and I’m doing it for truth, justice, and the Slayerette way, which is a lot more than those pencil pushers back at the council can say. Thought you of all people would _get_ that, Hero.”

“Xander—”

\--

“’Lo?”

“Hey.”

“… Xander?”

“Yeah. Look, it’s… It’s been a while.”

“S’been five hours.”

“No, since…”

“Are you drunk?”

“Since… Since ‘nyb-dy mentioned _her_.”

“… Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t… I’m sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to—”

“—S’okay.”

 “…”

“… Needed t’… know somebody remembered.”

“You _are_ drunk.”

“I just… Yeah. Li’l bit.”

“Maybe ye should—”

“—I know she… it wasn’t… me. I get it. The… fuckin’ soldier’n m’head… talks m’bout survivor’s guilt ‘n shit… I jus’… I can’t…”

“Harris?”

“… Can’t stop feelin’ like… Like why’m I still here, you know? After… all the fuckin’ things that’ve tried to kill me… _You_ , even…”

“Fuck, Harris. Everybody asks themselves that, all of us. We all should’ve been dead an’ redead a long time ago.”

“Worst part is, I keep… I keep testing it.”

“… Harris?”

“It’s sick. It’s fucking sick, Spike, but I keep throwin’ myself into shit, an’ I know it’s stupid, an’ I know the risks, but it’s like part of me wants t’ see how far I can get before—”

“—Yeah. Been there. S’not a fun place to be.”

“I… Never wanted to… Paul was… I knew he wasn’t the One, you know? But sleepin’ with him was better than waiting for the next thing I saw that… I… I’m always… Fallin’ for things that can kill me.”

“…”

“… I just… it’s like I can’t stop m’self. I want… I want the worst poison I can get my hands on—it’s been this way my whole fuckin’ life—”

“—So that night with me—”

“—No!”

“…”

“No… I… That night with you was just… Somethin’ I needed.”

“… Why?”

“Because… I don’t know, because—”

“—Because every time you looked at me you felt like someone was twistin’ yer stomach open like a jar?”

“…”

“Because when ye spat yer stupid little jibes at me, _ev’rythin’_ in ye was callin’ for—”

“—I didn’t… I didn’t _want_ to—”

“—I never _wanted_ to want you neither, ye bloody _nit_.”

“…”

“… But I _did_.”

“… _Spike_ —”

“—I wanted you. Like an infernal, ever-lastin’ itch that was never fuckin’ scratched right, even when it was.”

“Yeah. I… Yeah. That’s… what it was.”

“Is.”

“…”

“That’s what it is.”

“ _Spike—_ ”

“Admit it, Harris. You skirted off to Morocco ‘cause yer fuckin’ terrified it’s still there.”

“… I don’t… _want_ it to be.”

“But what if it is?”

“…”

“Come home. We’ll… We’ll figure this out.”

“It was there when you answered the phone.”

“What?”

“The itch. It was there when you answered the phone.”

\--

_“You Have One New Message.”_

“You know, Pet, drunk-dialing should never be done when one is more than a continent away. That’s just bad form. T’any rate, hope yer hung-over. Bloody well deserve it…”

\--

“ _You Have One New Message.”_

“Spike, if I deserve anything, it’s a break from you. I’m turning my phone off. Don’t bother calling me again.”

\--

“ _You Have One New Message.”_

“A break from _me?_ You’re joking, right? Harris, you’re out of your bloody mind if you think I’m gonna leave ye alone now. Let’s review what yer lovely little mouth slurred into my ear last night. You wanted me then, and you still want me now. And, just to be clear, you can have me. All you have to do is stop bein’ a prick, get yer arse on a plane and come _back_ here. Simple, yeah? Trust me. The reception will be worth the airfare.”

\--

“ _You Have Two New Messages.”_

“Y—You know what, Spike? I never said I wanted you. And even if I did, I—I was drunk, okay? Really drunk. So it doesn’t count. Even if I did want you when I was drunk, that wouldn’t count, right? No. Why am I asking you? Just—Just no. And even if it did count, it wouldn’t matter, because I don’t want to get mixed up with you anyway. And I’m not going to. So you can just—”

_“Message Erased”_

“And besides, you’re the one who made such a fucking huge deal over what happened. So it wasn’t my first time. So what? What’s the big deal? It’s not like you cared. You were hard-up for Buffy, remember? You didn’t say a word to me the next day, or the day after, or like, ever. And now you think you have the right to bring this shit back into my life? And be pissed off about it? Fuck you, man.”

\--

“ _You Have One New Message.”_

“Let’s get one thing straight here, Harris: I gave a shit. You drove me fuckin’ barmy. Here I thought it’d be best to call it a night and leave it at that, lest ye wake up with a big homophobic flip out an’ stake me. And there you are, deliciously bendy, wavin’ that arse in m’face like a fuckin’ red cape and lettin’ me think I’m wantin’ what I can’t have again. So _yes_ , it’s a _fucking huge deal_ , tosser.”

\--

“ _You Have One New Message.”_

“Spike. You are a _Fucking Idiot._ ”

\--

“’ell—”

“—Do you know how long I was _miserable_ over you? _Do_ you?! Do you know how long I fucking wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment? You’re a _Fucking Idiot_ , you know that?! Unbelievable!”

“… Harris.”

“Who else would it be? A fucking telemarketer?”

“… S’fuckin’ daylight out there, you prat.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you and your fucking nocturnal sleeping habits, Spike. I spent—Jesus, I don’t even _know_ how long, thinking that night was you fucking with me.”

“... Right. Because… I wasn’t?”

“Well, I mean, you _were_. Fucking me. But, you know, not fucking _with_ me. That thing you do when you feel like being cruel and evil, where you dangle joy into someone’s life only to take it away and crush them?”

“Oh, that. No, wasn’t trying to crush you, Pet.”

“Yeah. Figures.”

“…”

“So, what _were_ you trying to do?”

“Make you come.”

“…”

“I know you heard me.”

“Yeah. I… I heard you.”

“I heard you too. The way yer breath just stopped--”

“Knock it off, Spike.”

“—because you remember how hard you came. And you came _hard,_ Harris. Some of my best work.”

“…”

“S’exactly what I wanted. Ye can’t imagine how ye tortured me, Pet. Every morning, every night, s’all I could smell. You. Sweaty, covered in dust ‘n’ cemetery dirt. Or in the shower, scrubbin’ it all off. Touchin’ yerself. But never… Never lettin’ yerself get off. Like you thought, if ye just held on, I wouldn’t catch the scent.”

“…”

“But I did. Just… Filled the fuckin’ place, that scent. Don’t know how ye survived s’long as ye did on the damn Hellmouth, smellin’ so good an’ lookin’ the way you do.”

“…Yeah, well. I had you and the Buffster watchin’ my back. More Buffy than you. But, you know—”

“Oh, I was _watching_ —”

“—And laughing hysterically.”

“Voice’s a little rough, Harris. You suddenly develop a cold?”

“… What’re you trying to do, Spike?”

“Make you come.”

“…”

“The scent of you, the taste of your sweat… your skin… It’s never left me. It’s still here, on my tongue. I can still—”

“Stop it.”

“—Why should I? You remember me, don’t you? Remember how I touched you? How I pulled you off when you were almost there?”

“’Cause I… _fuck_ , Spike…”

“Sounds like _some_ one’s a little short of breath. What _ever_ could you be doing, Harris?”

“ _Nothing_! I—No, okay? I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“…”

“C’mon, Pet. Why not? I’m getting hard right now, just hearin’ ye say ‘No’. You always had the prettiest ‘No’. Always knew I could make it a ‘Yes’.”

“… Gu—Uh… Good luck. With that.”

“Oh, I had dreams of pushin’ ye down, plowin’ yer arse, makin’ ye scream for it… Fuck, you had such a tight arse… Tell me ye kept it for me…”

“I… No one’s… I’ve been on top since…”

“ _Shit_ …”

“… Spike?”

“Got me so hard, Pet. Need it… Tell me you want it, Xander.”

“I… Spike, I don’t—”

“ _Please_ , Xander… I can hear you. I hear your breathing, I hear your hand… I love the way you sound.”

“… Oh _Fuck_ , Spike…”

“Tell me ye need me t’ keep talking. Tell me you wanna hear.”

“I—I need it. _Unh…_ Fuck, _Please_ …”

“Want ye, facin’ me this time. Wanna make you come, wanna see it hit you… The way you sound… Bloody ‘ell, Pet, I just… Makes me so _hot_ for it. Every Goddamn time you called, I remembered. Ye just… God, so many things I could do to you… That sweet arse… So fuckin’ bitable, so tight it made m’ eyes cross… But the way you came…”

“ _More_ , Please, _Fuck—”_

“Ye came—Oh God, Harris, wanted t’see you just like that, coming yer fuckin’ brains out, groanin’ my name, always… I could keep ye just like that. I could keep you comin’ until ye was dead from it. Such a gorgeous—Oh—”

“Oh God—”

“Listen t’you, so close… God, you must be a sight right now. Don’t ye wish I was there? Don’t ye wish I was there, inside you? Lickin’ yer skin and bendin’ yer legs back and screwin’ yer—”

“ _Fuck-!”_

“Umn! _Oh--!_ … Oh _Bloody Fuck,_ Yes…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…  Harris…?”

\--

“ _You Have One New Message._ ”

“’M on th’ midnight flight to Istanbul. Ye better still be there when I get there. Prat.”

\--

“ _You Have Two New Messages._ ”

“Against my better judgment… I’m at the Armada. Room four-oh-eight.”

\--

“… Um. Just to be clear, you’re not fucking with me, right? Like, I mean, this is actually going to… You know what? We’ll talk about this when you get here.”

\--

Part of Xander still believed this was a practical joke.

Even when there was a knock on his door, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he knew who it was without ever needing to look.

But he got up, went to the door, and looked anyway.

Spike. Looking pale and dead and exactly how he looked last time he saw him whole. Which should’ve been impossible, but apparently wasn’t. That wasn’t the point.

The point was, he looked impatient. And when Xander pulled the door open, he lost the cigarette between his lips and stared at him with some sort of awe that didn’t fit on his face. Xander had never seen him awed.

Though, he was pretty sure Spike had never seen him look so good naked.

“Look at you.” He sighed, eyes dragging slowly up and down Xander’s exposed form. “Not a boy anymore, are ye?”

“And you’re not dust. Which is an improvement, I’m assuming.” He cracked a smile, pulling down the strap of his patch. “So, tell me you’re not fucking with me.”

After his long moment of staring, the vampire looked up again, quirking his trademark scarred eyebrow. “Didn’t come all this way to _not_ fuck with you. _”_

Small smile still picking up the corners of his lips, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. And watched him. And tried to slow his heartbeat so that the damn vamp hearing didn’t pick up his nerves.

It took a few seconds, but finally, Spike caved, looking utterly resigned as he spoke. “M’not fucking with you, Harris.” He sighed, leaning in the doorway as well. “If you’re not fuckin’ with me. So can we stop fuckin’ around and get to the… You know…”

Grinning wide and, for the first time in a long time, really and truly happy, Xander pushed away from his stance at the door and walked back into the room, picking his phone up from its place on the empty hotel dresser. “… Come in, Spike.”

And then he turned it off.

No one would hear from either of them for… quite some time.

But no one was worried.


End file.
